


To Court a Familiar

by My_Soul_and_Perfume



Series: Give Me Prompts! [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/pseuds/My_Soul_and_Perfume
Summary: He takes a moment to absorb Damon’s touches; the hands between his legs; his tongue licking between chin and collarbone, leaving suck marks behind. If he pushes aside the ever-growing, lust-filled knot at the pit of his stomach, and retreats into the depths of his mind where a pinwheel spins in grassy fields—thunder clouds up ahead—tranquil swishing of water between his toes—two words come to mind: radioactive and bare. James’ desire lay in one place, yet everywhere in between, stripped to the bare minimum of cloth and exposed. In a sense, this liaison connecting wilderness and vulnerability could be interpreted as loneliness, if he were unaccompanied; yet another heartbeat rumbles in the distance and it pulses, shifting the clouds—spreading dandelion fluff—rocking the waves gently—skin to skin contact is more than James could ever ask for and all he’s ever wanted. Likewise, Damon is steadily intensifying the wilderness within and he is conclusively manifesting.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whitebutler0099](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=whitebutler0099).



> This short story is a prompt requested by @whitebutler0099 who requested a male pregnancy theme. Please keep in mind that this is my first time writing such a prompt, and that I have no medical background whatsoever.
> 
> Critique comments are always welcome! And prompts! 
> 
> Enjoy!

**To Court a Familiar**

_Part 1_

 

       "So you would like to stop taking your suppressants?"

 

       James nods his head, an attempt at perfect posture to further encourage his doctor. He knows how to manipulate. He knows the play-by-play of how this works; fake the confidence, feel the confidence, project the confidence. It’s the only technique that has worked for him in the industry.

 

        His pediatrician, Robin, pivots on her heel to look at him, nothing but curiosity and a professional interest wanting to shed light on this sudden request. "My I ask why?"

 

       "You may." James nods. "I've been having sex. He wants a baby. I want a baby too."

 

       She clicks her tongue. "Wow."

 

       "Are you _shocked_ , Robin? I thought I told you my plans."

 

       "Seven years ago. I mean, I knew your were sexually active but…you've been together how long?"

 

       "One year."

 

       "Wow," she says again, shaking her head. Her smile is nothing short of radiant, both rows of teeth blindingly white and blood red lips aiming high toward her cheekbones. Robin beams at her little brother. "Oh my God, I'm so happy for you James! Who's the lucky guy?"

 

       "Damon. He's uh, he's my new Owner. Six-foot, so you know, five inches taller than me. He has a really cute nose like Tom Hiddleston. And he's pretty quiet too, patient…." he shrugs shyly.

 

       "Sounds just like you, J. I'm sure you guys are going to be fine." She reawakens the desktop computer by waving a little black mouse situated on the wooden panel to her right. She briefly turns her attention toward the monitor to review James' medical history, including medication he may or may not be taking. Her brother takes the initiative to fill the silence, knowing that this is no better time than to fill her in since Glow. He stutters a few times here and there, his lips flapping uselessly more than once at a nervous attempt at talking. He talks about the courting process, how Damon made mini scrap books for each month they were together; every page has a picture taped to it, a description, and one poem. James has them displayed in the living room above the entertainment system.

 

       Then of course, he absolutely _shivers_ as he remembers the petite intimacy stage they went through about two months into their courting; James had been in a sensitive state at the time and craved touch and recognition every few minutes. This is only because once a Familiar has gotten friendly with their Owner, a deeply rooted desire to get to know him/her is at its peak; staying away means possible sub-drop and separation anxiety, but staying close means 'home' and 'safety'.

 

        And finally, there was the actual mating, which happened about one week ago, where Damon had to track James by scent and nothing but scent in the woods; since they were on old, family property, James was able to map his way through the woods and into one of the cabins with ease. He scented the trees with urine, imprinted false tracks in the snow, but even so, his Owner found him. At that moment, he knew, they both knew, that they were a Match.

 

       "Damn, sounds like an awesome guy. I'd like to meet him sometime."

 

       "You will."

 

       She nods absently, "Right. Any who, back to sex; you want a baby. Awesome."

 

       "So I'm good to go?"

 

       "You didn't let me finish." James rolls his eyes playfully; he knows how much it irritates Robin to be interrupted. "J, you realize that the medication you're taking right now is…the cocktail is a very _high_ dosage. Now the birth control, I'm not worried about; that shi-stuff is the equivalent of a placebo so your body wouldn't have a problem getting used to the sudden withdrawal. But the heat suppressants are completely different. It's like taking an addict off crack. Your body is going to produce a few natural side affects."

 

       "So? I can handle it, Robin, you know I have high pain tolerance." Another genotypic, Familiar trait.

 

       "Even so, you're going to feel like shit James. The pill dosage is just over 45 milligrams; no normal Familiar wouldn't even be able to stomach it, no less have an easy time getting it out of their system. And whether you like it or not, you _are_ human. So what I'm going to do, is cut you and your partner some slack. Taking you off the suppressants could put you shock. But easing you out of it is the easier, less painful and conventional method of use that shouldn't leave your body too wrecked."

 

       He bites his lip, forcing back the impatience-woven words that could probably frustrate his sister rather than have her compliant. James wants to be off the suppressants _now_ , not tomorrow, not next week, not next _month_. Robin doesn't understand how much he wants to have this baby with Damon. She doesn't understand the time limit ticking above his head, a foreshadowing reminder that the Glow will fade soon.

 

       But, if he truly, sincerely knows Damon, James is less than certain that his Owner will leave him because of a slightly less than appealing Familiar incomparable to the first version.

 

       Ugh, when did he become so desperate?

 

       "Okay. Okay, fine. How soon can I start? How low will the dosages drop after every cycle?"

 

       "About ten milligrams each." She smirks as he groans. "I'm doing you a favor Jamey. Normally, five milligrams is the ideal rate and that would stall your plans even longer. Ranking it up to ten cuts you down five extra cycles. So shut up, be grateful, and give me a kiss because I'm a very generous sister whom you love."

 

       "I'll pass."

 

       "Ouch. I'm going to complain about this. To Damon."

 

       "Not gonna work. I already told him about you."

 

       She turns toward him, full attention now, with a glare in those forest green eyes. James meets them with a not-so-serious glare of his own. "What did you tell him?" Her voice is strangely calm, though the omega can see the rising in her shoulders, the tiniest hint of fangs peeking from her lips. Feline Familiars have always be quick to tense.

 

       To her annoyance, James laughs, sing-songing, " _No-thing_." He hops off the table, sweeps up his messenger's bag, and bolts out the door before she can pounce.

* * *

 

       Despite the positive, if not playful note both Familiars ended on, James was still feeling a bit guilty as he left the doctor's office, but also disappointed that his sister didn't bother to chase him out the door. Robin can be a sensitive person and sometimes--although she tries not to show it--insecure of how people perceive her. She practically radiates beauty, talent, and wisdom in that colorful, sage brain of hers, but somebody staring at her a second too long can practically send Robin's mind to not-so-pleasant places. Just mentioning her to Damon without her knowledge was not only insensitive, but a breach of privacy also.

 

       Eventually, when James returns the following afternoon to collect his new medication, he pays a quick stop to her office, feeling even guiltier than last night now that it's sat with him. He apologizes. The extra 30 minutes sitting outside her office waiting for the last patient to leave is worth the reassuring smile and hug. She even purrs into his chest too, so James knows that he didn't screw up too badly.

 

       At last, all in good conscience, James departs feeling more content than ever and drives back home to his Owner with a pocket stuffed with pills.

* * *

 

 

       The first month is worse than he thought it would be.

 

       Aside from the expected dizziness, dry throat, and lack of appetite, James never expected to be…his sister never said anything about finding abstinence appealing.

 

       At all.

 

       Every time Damon attempts to start something, James takes it upon himself to finish it. Abruptly. Not only does this surprise his Owner the first time around, but the Familiar near soiled himself once his mind starting _thinking_ , of all things. _Is my interest in him lacking? Is the flame already dying?_

 

       "I don't know what's wrong with me. I still love you, don't get me wrong but…I just don't want you to touch me. Intimately."

 

       "Did I do something wrong?"

 

       "What? No. No, you didn't….I called Robin and she said it's just a side effect. Sorry."

 

       "At least it'll pass." Damon nods. "I'm worried about your weight though; your plates are coming back loaded with food rather than empty like they should be. Add this to the fact that your Type has sensitive feeding habits, and it's a perfect formula for weight loss. From now on, I want you to have a protein shake during every meal. Is that understood?"

 

       The wolf nods, straddling his Owner to hug him tight. Damon raises his arms to reciprocate the embrace, but the contact just sets his skin on fire. He pushes them down with more than enough force and bites his lip to sooth the sudden nausea churning his stomach. James' body grows more rigid as it grows increasingly harder to swallow; Damon doesn't comment when he bolts to the master bathroom and drops to his knees, settling for standing by as his familiar heaves into the toilet.

 

       "Fuck." James pants; he hasn't felt this sick since fourth grade when that weird virus was going around. The cramping in his stomach is no less pleasant then he recalls it being. "Damon? I didn't scare you away, did I?"

 

       "No." he replies, nearing closer as added assurance.

 

       James flushes embarrassment. He flushes the toilet. "Sorry. That was gross."

 

       "I've seen worse things."

 

       "Right, you're a surgeon. Does that mean you're going to do my C-section?"

 

       "They wouldn't allow it," He stands idly by James--not too close to send him back to the toilet, but close enough so that his scent is recognized. An appreciative sigh escapes the wolf's lips, his insides settling a miniscule amount. "Seeing as I'll probably be hysterical when you deliver."

 

       James scoffs as he turns the faucet, clutching the edge for balance. "You? Hysterical?" He slides his toothbrush across his tongue.

 

       "I'll put it this way: When I operate on my patients, they're unconscious--"

 

       "I'll be unconscious too."

 

       "But the baby won't." Damon insists. No matter how much he wants to be side by side with his Familiar, he can't just ignore the possible risks exposure could give. Prepping the nest will be safer. Plus, he'll have more time scenting their private room too, which means that James will feel more at ease when they wheel him in. It's already enough having strangers cut into him while he's unconscious; coming back to a room that doesn't smell like home would just distress him further.

 

       They take their previous position atop the bed once James is finished with personal hygiene, though Damon knows better than to touch him now. Even with the lack of physical contact, just looking and scenting and _feeling_ is enough for both Owner and Familiar.

 

       Staying close is enough, even if it's a bit different.

 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critique comments are always appreciated!

**** **To Court a Familiar**

_Part 2_

 

       Two to three months into the future, James and Damon realize--capitulated--that symptoms of nausea, mood swings, spontaneous hunger pains, and headaches are sure to be an overture to an unavoidable fate during conception.

        (Of course, these are only a fraction of what James suffered through.)

       Winter green sheets, the same shade of His Owner's eyes, blessedly cool and soft; firm cushioning that mold with him like second skin; blankets of different textures and scents (his favorite material smelling of shaved pine fortifies a thinner sheet soaked in honey) ensuring an impenetrable, controlled environment that James indulges in to mitigate the worst of the worst every few days. Sleep is what he normally catches up on when he lay there, isolated and pressed, sulking through his misery and weak threats toward Robin for refusing to sedate him through the entire four months. She says it would risky, considering that his heat could literally happen at any time; if James happens to be in a coma during his heat, he and Damon could lose their opportunity at impregnation, inevitably further-stalling the clock.

       So he bestirs himself daily into cataloging just for the sake of saving his and his Owner's ass in the future. Migraines: inflicting too much sensory input at once. Mood swings: twisting and turning the words from Damon's mouth as they talk about preparations for a proper birthing ceremony, and worrying over the tiniest detail that could possibly lead to miscarriage then death. Nausea: being fed foods stemming from Damon's rich palate. No matter the time of day, no matter what sets him off and retreating back to bed, James can astute his knowledge in predicting what could happen in the future when he eventually becomes pregnant. Ultimately, his Owner buys him a journal for the sake of organization, and insists that he shares his observations to condense them into discernable patterns that they can both memorize.

      Toward the end of the third month, well into November, the couple have an easier time navigating catastrophes, dodging the worst of the rockies, as if Daedalus succeeded in saving Icarus each time he got too close to the sun.

      As promised (and rightly earned) heavy commendation for their resolve shift like fluid membranes over James' and Damon's heart; you could say absurdism has reached an all-time high.

      He goes into heat mid-December, enclosed by Lake Nona's presence, snowflakes kissing the house meditatively; irises blown wide and bursting with every color of the rainbow, spine drawn just a little taller, and shallow breaths falling almost desperately as his body craves to lunge, bite, _take_.

      But James knows who the true dominant is.

       Damon stays a respectable distance away from the wolf, leaning against the doorframe of their master bedroom, giving each other time to ease comfortably adrift the atmosphere; being calm, scenting, making eye contact, foreplay that appears to be too simplistic outside of a premature birthing ceremony but in actuality, almost too intense to wade in for too long.

> _Oh the habits of my heart_
> 
> _I can't say no_
> 
> _It's ripping me apart_
> 
> _You get too close_
> 
> _You make it hard to let you go_

        Following a sharp intake of breath, Damon is tackling James to the ground, effortlessly pining his wrists above his head all the while keeping his heartrate steady. His Familiar needs to knows how easy, how _simple_ , taking him down is, and that he won't just roller over submissively.

        James whips his forehead to contact Damon's, a fruitless attempt at getting the man distracted and disoriented; he desires to place the Mark, to claim his Owner for himself, and trot all over the meat which would bear is prints. Damon is quick to dodge however, and releases one hand from James' wrists to force his forehead back down. The Familiar growls snappishly, obviously frustrated. Damon takes pleasure in squeezing his temples, his wrists, memorizes every shallow pant and prevaricated behavior that only fortifies his need to make James submit. The process will take time, but eventually, both will bear each other's mark--only Damon needs to assert his own first because he _always_ comes first in the bedroom.

        After five minutes of pining--and an intense staring game--the beautiful Familiar beneath his body starts to relax, the whites of his eyes giving way to a beautiful technicolor coat of iris and pupil. Once all is calm, cheeks and noses flushed pink, Damon takes a deep breath, beginning their oath:

       "Strip your flesh of cloth and skin,"

       "Feast of the flesh, we may begin."

      "Lick my way down to the bone,"

      "Savor it clean, I know I'm owned."

       All at once, yet also unsynchronized, the Owner and Familiar take turns reciting each line, enunciating every syllable, emphasizes every word; a traditional oath recited during pre-birthing ceremonies, this is a steel web of permanent bonds which neither can escape. In other words, Damon and James officially belong to each other. They've endured the courting, earned one another's trust, have seen each other inside out and in between; all that's left is to mate and mark.

      He releases the wolf's wrists, tracing his fingertips down long, blue veins, inevitably landing between his shoulder and neck; James' heartbeat is a steady and even pace.

      Being below Him, yet retaining the same status of equality. Giving pleasure in a ricocheting manner. This is their way of showing each other that they are wanted; that their body is wanted; that their psych is wanted. And now, James is finally allowed to admire Damon--after four painfully long months. He finds himself so aroused and lust oriented, that just a simple strip tease is enough for sweat to come dripping down his back. Damon slowly rises from his mount and backs toward the bed, dropping an item of clothing every step.

      "Come to the bed and strip." He says.

      James rises gracefully and once seated on the king mattress, rolls through his spine as he lay down, adjacent to his Owner. Two by two, his abs are exposed slowly as his black tee rolls seductively toward the top of his chest. Although Damon had undressed in quicker motions, James wants to drag the foreplay on and on and on; ironic how impatient has was to go into heat, yet savors this event.

      Once the shirt has been stripped and tossed, Damon struggling to keep his breathing regulated, James skims his hands all the way down to the bulge in his pants. He bites his lip, moaning softly, as the button is popped, followed by a parting zipper, and previews the midnight black boxers housing his erection. James spreads his legs and Damon all but grips the sheets; the pants are dragged down slowly with a figurative eight of his hips. Finally, down to nothing but boxers, the Familiar awaits further instruction. It is not his place to touch what is no longer in his possession.

      "This is what lay beneath the veil.” Damon mutters to himself.

      With the slightest tone of insecurity creeping out, James says, “That was pretty vague. Am I not to your standards?”

      Damon shakes his head. He lay a palm on James’ stomach. “Your skin is warmer here.”

      “The baby. My body is preparing itself.”

      “Mm. I can’t wait to mark you. Nobody will touch you again.” As if to reimburse this statement, Damon skims the heel of his palms between James’ thighs, stroking the muscle over and over until they become warm and quivering. James is reminded of how much control Damon will have over this particular part of his anatomy, even more so in the bedroom, as he lay pinned and trapped beneath a body physically stronger than his. Even so, despite literally having the upper hand (or in this case, upper strength), James is sure he could turn this entire situation around if he wanted to; he could beg and manipulate Damon into giving him what he wanted with less than a sentence, could easily switch personalities to someone more feral and savage than his partner has ever seen. But James won’t. Because he likes it this way. Likes the game they’re playing right now. Damon hasn’t said a word in minutes, not very unusual, but with the way he migrates between the crease of his knee to the V of his cock, it’s obvious that he’s teasing, baiting.

      “I could lay here all day.” Damon comments.

     James converges on the way his tongue curls as he speaks. They haven’t kissed each other yet. “I thought you said you couldn’t wait to mark me.” He exposes his throat tauntingly. “You seemed pretty eager.”

     “So did you when you tried to tackle me.”

      James shrugs. “I wasn’t in control of my wolf. My senses haven’t been this heightened since I hit puberty for the first time.”

     “How do you feel?”

     He takes a moment to absorb Damon’s touches; the hands between his legs; his tongue licking between chin and collarbone, leaving suck marks behind. If he pushes aside the ever-growing, lust-filled knot at the pit of his stomach, and retreats into the depths of his mind where a pinwheel spins in grassy fields—thunder clouds up ahead—tranquil swishing of water between his toes—two words come to mind: radioactive and bare. James’ desire lay in one place, yet everywhere in between, stripped to the bare minimum of cloth and exposed. In a sense, this liaison connecting wilderness and vulnerability could be interpreted as loneliness, if he were unaccompanied; yet another heartbeat rumbles in the distance and it pulses, shifting the clouds—spreading dandelion fluff—rocking the waves gently—skin to skin contact is more than James could ever ask for and all he’s ever wanted. Likewise, Damon is steadily intensifying the wilderness within and he is conclusively manifesting.

     “Good. I want you.” He purrs. _Take the bait_.

     “How do you want me?”

     “Mm.” James can virtually picture Damon about a thousand ways and more. His cock down his throat. Fucking him into the mattress. Standing proud and tall overhead James while he kneels below him. He can almost feel the restraints that would tie his wrists together, leaving bruises as purple as the night sky.

     There are too many options to choose from. “How do you want _me_?” James asks instead.

     “Just the way you are. Should I be making the decisions?”

     “If you want to.”

     “You’re very desperate in bed.” Damon grins. He licks his way up James’ neck, pressing down on every pulse point, nipping at his jaw, before sucking earnestly at his lower lip. James can feel his heart creeping up his throat, exhilarated that this will be the moment his body is claimed, taken, _used_. “How are you holding up?” It takes Damon’s luring words and concerned gaze for him to realize how rapid his breathing is. He alternates between inhaling through his nose, out his mouth, and so on to ebb the adrenaline spike.

     “I’m okay. Just excited.” If the erection tenting his boxers isn’t saying enough, maybe words will. “I’m desperate. Very desperate. Use me, fuck me. Please.”

     “Goddamn. You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you? How long have you been thinking about this, James? You’ve had four, long months of fantasizing how this would go. What did you think about? Did you touch yourself?”

     “N-no.”

     “You were saving yourself for me.” James moans, long and longing, as his cock is squeezed. The fabric below the waistband is soaked in arousal. “You’re still saving yourself. That’s why you haven’t made a move, isn’t it? Only I get to touch this body.”

     “Just you.” James pants. “Fuck. Please.”

     "What do you want?"

     " _You._ Just you."

     "What do you _want_ , James?"

     "Anything!"

     "I make the decisions." Damon is really testing the waters right now, marveling at the way James humps his palm and clutches the sheets.

     "Yes." And James is all but begging at this point, practically pleading; the game is a tie. "Just--" He swallows back a keen and exhales shakily.

     "Stay here."

     "You're asking me to be patient?" A fevered zeal. Mint bleeding through palms. Forest green eyes gazing back at the beast.

     "No." Damon opposes. "I'm telling you to."

* * *

 

  **D** **ecember 25, 2016**

 

     James rouses to the sound of murmuring voices outside his bedroom door. The sheets are twisted--soft and wilted from stretching the fabric religiously-- around his torso and smell pungently of pine, mint, and honey. Weak strokes of light filter in and out of consciousness, Zeus’s never ending mood swings playing with the clouds nonstop. In the window, droplets of condensation stretch thinly, translucent, in a single coating of frost and sparkle like atom sized shards of glass across the maple floors. Today is a new dawn, graced with winter’s presence, and James has many gifts to give.

     He is a child again on Christmas day and waiting for his parent’s contagious smiles (mom had the brightest) to scoop him up in a cradle before eating breakfast beneath early morning stars. Firmer, less callous hands cradle his cheek instead, and James opens his eyes mid-smile to find that Mom and Dad have become Robin and Damon. Everyone is, for the first time, celebrating Christmas together as newly-wed and in-law.

     James is satisfyingly shocked awake. Damon continues to cradle his cheek, carding through tangled strands of hair. His sister seats herself at the foot of the bed.

     "Morning." Damon greets.

     "Morning. You smell like bacon. Did you cook?"

     "I did, actually." Robin intervenes. “Everything is packed up and ready to go.”

     “You found the spot?”

     She only smiles. “Merry Christmas.”

     Once James is up and out of bed—with the help of his spouse--a thin grey cardigan and navy blue, cotton sweat pants are pulled snugly over his round belly, and swollen ankles pulled in hunting boots. Robin meets them in her car with everything packed into the trunk; blankets, thermos, suitcases, groceries, and crisply wrapped presents. James allows himself to be tucked in the back seat by Damon and lay his head on a pillow he obtained from the bedroom. The drive will be long, about four hours, but once they get to their destination the Familiar is sure to be pulsing with energy.

* * *

 

     The cabin is exactly how they left it. Not the one James and Damon used for the mating ritual, but an older, more private domain placed on the edge of the woods not far from the family’s main residence. This cabin, _Mom and Dad’s_ cabin, lay in the sun’s line of sight from dusk till dawn, smells of cedar wood, and has creaky old floor boards nailed haphazardly through tree stump pillars.

     Robin holds his hand as they pass through the living room, presently cleaned of any residual dust on the furniture, comfortably making themselves at home as if they departed for a quick trip to the store. Damon maneuvers the car underneath a deciduous tree, still bizarrely possessive of its leaves despite being in the throes of winter. He unloads the trunk too, since Robin packed, and gives a questioning glance since putting them anywhere strikes him as intrusive, not to mention rude. _James has mentioned this cabin before_ , he recalls. _Several months back when we pre-mated; it was dusty and infested with vines._

     “I’ll show you. Robin, could you heat up the food please?”

     She stares at him incredulously, eyebrows furrowed and right shoulder favoring the slight tilt of her head.

     “What?” James inquires.

      “Where the _fuck_ did those manners come from? Since when do you say please?!”

     “I’ve always had manners.”

      “Liar.” She sings.

     “You’re just jealous that I’m nicer to Damon than you.” The tides rock in warning, licking at his ankles. James’ world fades a paler shade than it once was, thunder clouds a misty grey, the pinwheel in the grass nicking at the edges. His heart is chewed delicately by Regret and Guilt; he reopens his mouth to apologize, but Robin rebuttals teasingly:

     “You’re just trying to be polite so that you’ll get it good in the bedroom tonight.” Once upon a time, this girl would have burst into tears at the slightest mention of being loved less; Mom and Dad’s death have strengthened Robin in their own way, James supposes.

_Actually,_ James muses, _having sex is out of the question._ One month prior, when James found that it was getting harder and harder to keep his hands to himself, throat as dry as the desert and back weary with stress, the Familiar attempted to woo Damon into having sex with him; turns out, he wasn’t the only one that felt horny as fuck, because as soon as James started peppering suggestive kisses along his Owner’s throat and jaw, getting his Familiar sprawled on the mattress with his legs spread seemed like the most logical action to Damon. Both of them were on the edge too--kissing, sucking, biting, touching—thinking, “One last fuck before the baby is born.”

      James’ goddamn baby bump prevented Damon from penetrating him like he wanted to.

      Getting on his hands and knees would just strain his back and settling for a hand job was just plain unsatisfactory; so sex would have to wait until after the birthing ceremony.

     James rolls his eyes, drawing no hurt from her body language and braces his palms on the neck of the chair to rise. (He swears he hears the floor crack beneath him.)

     “Don’t break the house.” Robin snickers.

     Despite his best effort to look annoyed, James can’t control the broad grin from stretching his lips. Damon also, though he can see the tell-tale signs of laughter pummeling his chest. “You guys are assholes. Is it really that fun to make fun of pregnant people? Nope! Don’t answer that! Come on babe.”

     Damon heaves the duffel bags-- his, James’, and Robin’s—over his shoulder with ease. Just as his Familiar leads him by the elbow, about to turn the corner, Robin speaks up. “Oh wait! Leave the gifts there, by the fireplace.”

     An abused, draw-string sack stuffed silly with gift boxes, cradled and sticking into Damon’s ribs, is set politely by a bundle of firewood just as requested. Most of the presents are for James and the (giant peach) baby, about two fourths or so; another two quarters belong to Damon and Robin, half wrapped in cherry blossom paper, another in lumberjack flannel.

                                                                                                                                                      

* * *

 

_They were stuck in a twilight zone between nightfall and dawn, awake, aware, and snapping twigs beneath their feet._

_“It’s up ahead.” Their father said. He squeezed the hand of James warmly, who passed the gesture to Robin, who delivered it to his wife, anticipation pumping surplus energy in the hearts of their children; they quickened the pace impatiently. Robin stayed close to her little brother, her chestnut hair styled in a French braid, hunting boots and overalls for wear; as the big sister, she was responsible for James, whose feet were too small for climbing and brain too small for quick thinking. Mom and Dad were counting on her; their Glow was fading and the family had little time left for bonding._

_Up ahead, just past a densely packed clump of trees, lay striking orange bleeding into the water, an unfrozen lake, and abnormally clear skies freckled of stars. Robin called it Composite Lake. She came upon the spot while scavenging in the forest and thought it would be the perfect gift to give to James. He might not have been able to appreciate the view until a later age, but the boy would surely remember it for years to come._

_Luna rocked to and fro as Dad hauled the supplies on board and started the engine; with no wind to sail with, Luna had to depend on fuel and the water’s current. Robin took a seat on the deck next to her mother on a picnic blanket, maneuvering James onto her lap; he let her without a fuss. But then his stomach grumbled._

_“Can we eat?” asked Robin._

_Dad was still tending to the boat, securing the sails, getting acquainted with the wheel, lifting the anchor. If he was tired, he didn’t show it and worked his forearms as needed; Robin wondered how he knew what to do._

_“Let’s wait for Daddy. But you can help me spread out the food. James, baby, come here. Robin, get the bag please.”_

_“Okay.”_

_She stumbled on her feet once or twice trying to find her grounding as Luna rocked back and forth from Dad’s relentless jeering. The duffel bag lay just within her reach, but slid from slide to slide, feinting left when she stepped right. Eventually, Robin got frustrated and decided to pounce; James laughed at her flustered face, red in embarrassment and frustration. She stuck her tongue out and tossed the bag onto the quilt-_

_And pounced on it once again when it slid toward the edge._

_“The anchor’s stuck between some rocks. I don’t think we’ll be able to move.” Said Dad, peeling off his gloves and tucking them into his pants pocket. The edge of his hairline was dripping with sweat and his muscles bulged beneath his skin tight tee shirt. James, who sensed trouble, started crying._

_“Oh no, James. It’s okay. We can still see the stars. See?” soothed Robin. She slid him back into her lap and curled up comfortably with her knees tucked beneath James’ and both arms encircling the boy. She pulled the fringes from his eyes and tilted his chin to look at the endless galaxy of stars and planets, black, blue, and purple swirling together. As she pointed and narrated to him the multitude of constellations and planets, their parents set to work on unpacking breakfast; fruit salad (apples, oranges, grapes), untoasted cinnamon bagels and strawberry cream cheese, homemade peanut butter bars, and peach tea._

_Mom’s beautiful cherry blossom dress folded around her legs modestly. She slid next to her husband, tired but awake, and listened to her children conversing. Dad held her hand unconsciously._

_“I think they’ll be okay without us.” He reflected._

_“You think so?”_

_“Yeah. I think that, if we die right now…Robin and James would be just fine.”_

_Mom nodded, indecisive between smiling and frowning. Yes, Robin was a natural mother, yes, James had a big heart, but once the Glow faded nobody would be able to guide them anymore; Mom’s Familiar spirit would take its last breath and die along-side her Owner’s soul. This is inevitable._

_Abruptly, she strayed from those morbid thoughts, and called to her children. “It’s time to eat!”_

                                                                                                                                              

* * *

 

      “James? James!”

      He starts, snapping his head toward Robin, yet still facing Damon, and hums questioningly. His head feels fuzzy, like it was stuffed with cotton, and it takes him a while to realize that he holds a picture—

      Mom and Dad. Grinning, golden hair lit up by the sun, standing front to front, palms interlaced and hovering between their shoulders. Engulfed by tunnel vision, the two of them look stranded, and wading in an ocean of ink, but a melodic sense of ease and intimacy—growing and overflowing—stick to the clothes on their back like a border. James’ heart stutters warmly—the same cherry blossom dress levitates, revealing the back of Her knees—red and black flannel, course and fuzzy and warm, stretch over His bulging biceps.

      So a day in the wilderness, then. Here, in the forest?

      He takes a deep breath, shoulders relaxed and expression content. He smiles. “I think I just…” thumbs the photograph absently, looks into Mom’s peacock-blue eyes, “, had a flashback. Or one of your memories, maybe one of theirs.”

     Robin rises from her seat at the kitchen table, looking wholly intrigued. James can feel Damon staring at him, but not of concern. Not of interest. Sadness, perhaps?

     “What’d you see?” she asks. James rolls his lips and shrugs. He waddles to the couch, sighing in relief on behalf of his ankles as he sinks into the cushions . How long had he been standing for?

     “It was…. Remember Luna?”

     Robin smiles nostalgically. She seats herself to his left, Damon flanking right. “The boat we rented out, yeah. For that one time... James, you remember that? You were five when it happened, and that’s the only time we went. How….” She stares at him, appalled.

     Damon slides in close by James, dragging pine and mint with him. He connects their temples, nuzzling into his frizzy curls, and rubs at his swelled belly with tender care. When he speaks, his voice is soft, a toe-curling rumble, sounding almost doting. “I’ve heard stories where decedents of family lineages have flashbacks that aren’t their own. Some…phenomenon that only happens with Familiars.”

     “Why?” James asks. Robin bites her lip and raises her hand tentatively, wordlessly requesting the photo. James passes it over.

     Damon shrugs. “Phenomena aren’t meant to be explained, merely experienced.”

     “Is that your philosophical opinion?” James grins.

     “Maybe. What was your memory about?” 

     “Mom, Dad, and Robin were taking me to a lake. Composite lake, that’s what she called it.”

     “Who?”

     “Me.” Robin answers. Her bottom lip is trembling and the faintest of red envy swells her cheeks. The younger Familiar realizes, sympathetically, that she has no Owner. And yet here James and Damon are, flaunting mindless gestures of affection—their unborn child—

      Thunder clouds growl in the back of James’ head, sending hailstones aplomb the ocean in rage. He retrieves one from the shallows, finding it strangely dry; it reads:

_Fire._

* * *

 

        _They burned Luna._

_It would carry their bodies down the lake, sinking into oblivion, into midnight, into ashes. Nothing in their possession would be left behind, including the boat, but Robin and James and the cabin would live. This tradition, the burning of a Match, is a send-off to a place far from the world, from Earth._

_They felt the Glow abandon their bodies in steady increments at last. Mom and Dad spared any goodbyes and charred, hand in hand._

_Composite Lake was the gate to Heaven._

* * *

 

      “That sounds beautiful. Is it still around?”

      Damon’s voice fades in, like Brahms’s Hungarian Dance reaching crescendo. Sudden, blinding, warm, exposed, the smooth angles of Damon’s face are lit up by the sun. Angelic and innocent. A knight in shining armor shielding him from the worst of the glares with his own body. A natural and unconscious need to protect what is treasured without expecting repayment. Damon is, truly is, James’ Owner. He leans in to kiss him spontaneously, a chilly imprint on his cheek; the other shivers, sending literal vibrations all the way through James, from his toes to his knees, traveling up his spine, to impact his belly. The baby kicks in response and they simultaneously freeze.

     “The baby…kicked.” Damon swallows. Robin pauses mid-sentence, shifting from confusion to understanding to a dawning comprehension that expands her lips into an ‘O’. The older Familiar is up and out of her seat within seconds, striding purposely to the fireplace and back, bearing five rectangular boxes in her arms.

     Her command is not a request, nor shall it be ignored. “Gifts. Now. Open them.”

     “Okay.” James trembles. Still a comfortable, almost suffocating weight beside him, Damon polishes his belly in circles, looking more pleased than ever.

 

* * *

 

**_Day: Unknown_ **

****

     James finds himself…somewhere. Firm cushioning molds to the knobby vertebrae in his spine, and his arched feet dangle, relaxed, blood roaring through his toes to offer a mere helping of heat. Face, neck, chest, and legs all bared to the echoless void of Somewhere, his muscles quivering instinctually to the ice cold air; it is only then, during a nasty, shivery quake that James realizes he is wearing clothes. Thin clothing, that does nothing to ease his numbing limbs. The Familiar opens his eyes and faces Somewhere in total darkness, technicolor eyes darting nervously back and forth, back and forth.

_“…so…healthy?”_

_“Always give him…not…. Clean…and…information books.”_

_“Great. Thank you.”_

_“Not…. Good luck.”_

      James comes to an eight count of silence before something at the end of his horizontal location clicks, a high pitched squeak following with a dull thudding of rubber soles. With no memory prior to his current position, James tries his best to bypass the endless circles reigning hellfire through his head. Just to see what would happen, he calls out:

     “Damon.” A dying whistle.

      He waits.

     “Robin.” Dry sandpaper.

      He waits.

     “…Lexi?”

     And all at once, yet simultaneously, a gradual buildup of light of life of laughter, James resurfaces into the real world pinned down by heavy hospital sheets and beeping monitors. He inhales, wincing at the irritating stretch in his abdomen, and cracks his eyes open.

     “James?” Damon gasps.

_“Breathe babe. Breath with me.”_

_“Damon—“James pants. “Shut the Hell up.” He squeezes the other’s hand through a voiceless groan, clenching his teeth in agony. Two nurses wheel him calmly through double doors, feinting professionalism, though the Familiar can see tell-tale amusement in their eyes. Since the couple came stumbling through the doors of Power Care Hospital, almost every patient and staff felt their day brighten inevitably at the spontaneous labor-burdened omega being carried in by his alpha in shining armor. Doctor Damon—everyone acknowledged. And as always, he executed practiced routine smoothly, signing papers at the front desk, keeping his Match calm, while simultaneously making preparations for their nest in the hospital, post-surgery._

_“Doctor Blanche will be operating on him.” Informed one nurse as she and one other wheeled the omega through a no-patient zone. Damon nodded his head approvingly; the lady in mention, as observed through his years of practice and working with his colleague, is capable of leaving little to no scarring on those admitted to her care. James will be happy in more ways than one when he wakes later._

_With nothing left to say, both leading betas plus surgeon maneuver the Familiar safely into the surgeon’s room, gently setting him on the operating table. Damon strokes his hair soothingly, talking James through everything as they disrobe him of clothing to replace them with a traditional hospital gown. No less than two minutes later, Doctor Blanche strolls in, prepped and washed. She smiles at her colleague in acknowledgement._

_“James.” She begins. “I want you to take deep breaths for me, deep breaths. We’re going to being your C- section now. My name is Doctor Blanche. Is there anything you want to say before we begin?”_

_In a moment of vulnerability, the Familiar blinks away tears, licks his chap lips, whimpers, and says, “I love you.” Damon kisses his forehead in response._

_“I love you too.” He stands aside as one nurse approaches with the spinal anesthetic. “Okay, we’re going to begin now, babe. I’ll be on the other side watching. I’ll be here when you wake up.”_

* * *

 

 

**2 Years Later**

     “Robin is watching her the whole day?”

     “Yep.”

      “So…” the young Familiar twiddles his thumbs nervously, “What do we do?”

      Damon only sighs, “Well. It’s Saturday, the weather’s beautiful, it’s quiet. Maybe too quiet….”

     “Oh?”

     “Yes. I think we should make some noise.”

     James, lightheaded and easily persuaded by the influence of red wine, sets down his glass and scoots the dining chair back to face Damon. Indeed, today is definitely beautiful.

     He wonders if Robin took Lexi to the playground before snapping back into focus and picks up the suggestive growl in his husband’s tone.

     Licking his lips then biting one softly, the Familiar slides his palms down his knees. “Oh.” He breathes.

      Damon sets down the cutlery used to tear at his steak. “Mm. The lighting is perfect right here, in fact. Wouldn’t you like to take a picture James? Could you imagine placing my body across the table, naked and exposed to the sun’s harsh glare?” He palms his cock softly. “…Or would you rather I did it for you?”

     “Someone would see it.” Neither confirming nor denying a fantasy where either one is vulnerable, James fruitlessly tries to counter Damon’s judgement with common sense; the company checks his camera daily.

     “Copy the photo and delete it, then—“

     “And then what? Buy a picture frame?”

     “You would sit on our nightstand every day James. You would see yourself how I see you.”

     They’ve migrated to their feet now, face to face and erections bumping together. It comes with plenty of hesitance, but James agrees to his Owner’s prompting and shuffles to the bedroom to retrieve his camera, returning without a shirt or pants. Damon strips to match and clears the table so they have space to move. His heart is pumping so forcefully; he is convinced he’s on the verge of a heart attack.

     Before he can pour it down the sink, James steals the wine glass from Damon’s hand and downs the rest in one go. Liquid courage, he chants.

     “How do you want me?”

     “Put one hand on the chair, another on the table.”

     “Like this?” James chirps.

     “Yeah. Now twist your torso a bit so the light falls across your back. God, that’s beautiful.” Damon takes the first shot cleanly, impressed by the quality and stability of the camera. Even Lexi could take a picture and it would still come out victorious.

     “Okay…how about—turn around, sit on the table. Spread your legs.”

     “W-what? But— “

     “Turn around.”

     Blood rushes so fast to his cock that James is left dizzy, swaying momentarily and even dizzier when it extends, flushed red and dripping. This whole situation is amazing really, how he gave his consent to being photographed, but forced to expose himself in such shameful ways. Now Damon is asking, no, _telling_ , him to sit on the table they eat on and spread his legs?

     It’s…dirty.

_Oh. Fuck._ Endless dribbles of pre ejaculate drip down James’ cock as he shifts positions and plants his ass on the mahogany. Damon’s finger slips accidentally and a photo is snapped, at the exact same moment that James cups his balls to keep arousal from staining the table. The picture comes out how one would expect; explicit and toe curling. Scalding heat pushes Damon to far thinner patience than he started out with, and all of a sudden he’s barking commands every second, displaying James like the beautiful piece of art he is. Ten more pictures are taken before both parties find themselves tongue fucking, almost all teeth, one grabbing the other’s erection while the other moans as his nipples are pinched and teased.

      Damon swiftly turns his husband around before dropping to his knees and licking at the puckering pink hole passionately. James’ nails scratch on the wood and suddenly there’s nothing for him to grab at, leading his knees to buckle and nearly nit the floor. Damon grabs his hips before it happens.

     “ _Fuck_.” He’s so wet, wet _everywhere_ and getting the table dirty, making a mess. He’s fucking the hand gripped tight around him and moaning so loud, filling the house with noise just like Damon wanted; James is on the brink of ecstasy, only his Owner pulls away just in time. He gets manhandled all the way atop the table, legs spread invitingly, on his back, erect and leaking, flushed red from the wine and cloaked by golden beams. Damon takes one last photo now that he has his Familiar relaxed and loosened and so, so vulnerable. No more time is wasted as he finally sinks into James’ tight ass, which draws out a long growl from both of them.

     James rocks against his cock impatiently and Damon swears, out of breath. He bends down to lap at his nipples.

     “Jesus fuck, Damon. Harder.”

      The table rocks unsteadily. Damon hauls James’ knees over his shoulders, enhancing the angle and penetrating deeper than before; sparks, electricity, crackling heat engulfs the younger male and for a few seconds he totally blanks, unaware of his husband groaning excitedly as he tightens unconsciously around his length.

     “God, James. I’m gonna—“

“Don’t you dare!” he growls.

     Somehow, the Familiar gets Damon up and onto the table below him, on his back so their positions are reversed; his Owner can only moan confusedly, what with his muscles shivering uselessly at his sides. James pins his wrists down, bites down at soft, quivering flesh, and impales himself on Damon’s cock. He sets a steady pace immediately until the first orgasm rips through Damon in an unexpected storm; his head thuds against the table one, twice. But, oh no, they didn’t come together.

     “Babe. Sit on my face.”

     “Fuck yes!” Damon’s cock falls with a wet smack, James’ ass finding new entertainment elsewhere. His cock twitches sporadically, met with toe curling pleasure as Damon progresses from gentle laps of his tongue, to rough, courser strokes as he shifts from moist stimuli to rough taste buds. He flicks his tongue past the tight ring of muscle, then nips at the rim; James’ jolts in surprise and moans, deeper and more desperate.

     Finally, he’s climaxing too, and come shoots all the way across their chests, some landing on his cheek, and the Familiar is pounding the dining table with his palm, spitting curses.

****

* * *

 

 

     Her Familiar is yet to be determined.

_Lexi, our beautiful baby. Who will you grow up to be?_

     Fair skin, ginger, hazel eyes and technicolor pupils. She was born at six and a half pounds, albeit slightly under the average baby weight, but still kicking in quite the literal sense. Damon and James observed how Lexi prefers displaying physical response rather than verbal communication; a quiet baby who enjoyed aunty Robin’s outrageous tales of her profession when she came to visit. Her eyes would grow larger and larger, until technicolor overrode the greenish brown hue, and smiled (always smiled). As for the Match, Damon and James polish the finishing touches on her room, watercolor walls and pale pink crib.

     Eventually, as his maternity leave officially ends, James returns to work at the photography industry, Shutter, and continues to edit photos for artists all over the world.

     On his desk from last Christmas is a new camera, given and purchased by his older sister Robin; digital, black, light, not overly complicated, and loaded with memory. If one were to scroll through his personal gallery, pictures of an Owner bathed in golden rays smiling charmingly, cradling nature’s newest would scroll by from left to right, like a favorite song set on repeat. Lexi officially turned one-year-old that day, all smiles from the minute she woke to the moonlight’s graceful kiss at night. As for Damon, he handled the baby with care in his nimble surgeon hands and kissed her rosy pink cheeks.

     A photo of all three of them sits at the very end; James had to ask a pedestrian, who in the end, was happy to oblige. Thus, the family stood, positively glowing, between the ocean’s current and windswept grass. Lexi Gyn, Damon Gyn, and James Gyn smiled beneath the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blushes* How was it?


End file.
